The Champion of Bad Taste (Part 2)

As you know I have a penchant for all things low brow. It’s really quite a delicious and ironic paradox when taken into account I also write a fashion blog. In my own defence though, fashion is art and to quote Marilyn Manson in (s)AINT, “I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art”. I’m not sure how referencing a 90’s antichrist of non-descript gender supports the point I’m trying to make- actually I’m failing to grasp what point it is I’m making but as they say, “if you can’t convince- confuse.” Moving on, I begin my tale of bad taste with a proposition: Have you ever asked yourself the very profound question of, “If I were ever asked to do an impromptu performance at Eurovision, WHAT would I wear?” No? Oh. Well if I were to ask myself that question, then this particular article would be my most obvious answer.

Behold:

(The vest I mean)

It came to me on a sunny autumn afternoon, just after I had finished work. I’d been good with my spending that week and therefore had a budget to blow! I figured I’d scour through the shops in Paddington near the cafe I work at. [Wow, I just read over that and saw what a horrible cliché I’m shaping up to be- working at a cafe in Paddington, writing fashion blogs, wearing kitsch for the sake of kitsch... someone please stage me an intervention?] Anywho, there it was in Side Street. I tried on my vile delight, bustling into the small change room, hardly a care for the curtain that didn’t quite close properly. My departure from the change room was not quite so festive- much less to do with the rancid fart the former occupant had left me and more to do with the impracticalities of the vest. I looked helplessly at the shop assistant and sighed, “But what would I wear it with?” He struggled with feeble suggestions, though he knew as well as I that the situation was dire. As I left the store, what happened that afternoon my friends, was a little thing called “divine intervention”.

The Stooges started playing on my iPod. Search and Destroy. The shrieking guitars and Iggy Pop’s angst-ridden wails answered my question in a heartbeat: “What the fuck wouldn’t I wear it with??” I turned on the spot and marched myself back to Side Street. Done. Bought. Sold. Fuck yeah.

That afternoon I rode off into the sunset dripping with rock n roll, a strut in my step, ready to get all Joan Jett up in this bitch. You know how it is. I arrived home brandishing my holy grail in the quest for bad taste. In my head it was one of those rare garments that straddles the fine line between totally awesome and totally eurotrash. You know- one of THOSE. Sure, in my head at least. In reality it was more like the vest downed 9 shots of tequila, tripped face first over that “fine line” and then tried to have sex with eurotrash’s cat. This is the kind of vest I’d hope to find myself wearing teamed with leopard print tights after emerging from a week long punk rock festival in Tokyo. I can’t imagine when else it would be acceptable, but of course in the name of vulgarity, there lies the source of my passion!

Kiki La Rue's Guide to female freeballing

Recently, I underwent a monumental personal revolution. The beginning of my seismological change can be pinpointed to my best friend’s recent 20th birthday party. I was telling her how ravishing she looked that night, when she began grinning at me like a cheeky 5 year old.

“Guess what ..” she started .
“What?” I replied, eager to be in on the mischief.
“I’m not wearing any underwear!”
“Really?!” I gasped, looking quizzically and openly at her crotch.

Wow. It was almost shocking but then I figured it didn’t really surprise me. My friend, who I can’t name for obvious reasons, but has requested we simply refer to her as “Kiki La Rue”, has long since been one to go braless so it was only a matter of time before she went all the way. If anything Kiki’s new branch into the underworld of undergarments is simply a sign of the times. Forget burning bras, the 21st century is still about women’s sexual liberation but our generation has wisened up a little- we’re sparing our breasts from gravity’s onslaught and the revolution has flown south! A little bit of frontal crack has become about as shocking as leaked sex videos. Yawn. There is nary a media outlet you can look at without getting a good solid crotch shot. The internet is a veritable catalogue of celebrity bits and flashes of various socialites’ va-jay-jays are part and parcel to most monthly media publications. With the popularity of female freeballing undeniable and now in my own backyard, I decided I wanted in. I hatched a plan to try it myself during a brief trip to my local shopping centre. At first I’d have to say I loved it. That was up until I got out of the car. My confidence quickly shrivelled up and assumed the form of a gnarled prune. With my failure weighing heavily on my mind it was time to go back to the drawing board and talk to the inspiration behind my brief moment of liberation. I decided to interview Kiki La Rue:

How long have you been freeballing Kiki?

I’ve been actively free balling for 9 months or so. I first got a taste for it NYE 07-08 when I was wearing a sheer dress and a white g-string underneath. My boyfriend was quick to tell me he could see the g-string through the dress. Seeing as I was freshly waxed down there, I decided to take the risk and not wear underwear. Although I got drunk, fell over and accidently flashed a few people, it didn’t deter me.

What inspires you to freeball?

Regular free ball inspiration was the introduction of tights into mainstream fashion – I could never live with the horror of a VPL (visible panty line); and g strings get uncomfortable and cause you to squirm. Sometimes it can get all up in your shit and it hurts to walk. Obviously, free balling was the next logical step.

How often would you say you freeball?

Probably 3 times a week – whenever I wear tights or just feel lazy and want some air.

Why do you freeball?

No VPL, it feels good, and it just adds that little but of excitement to the day when there’s a risk of being caught!


What is your advice to anyone wishing to try freeballing for themselves?

Start slow. Maybe try short periods like a quick trip to the shops - don’t just jump in there all at once because you’ll most likely get self conscious and imagine that everyone, from the little old lady with her wheelie walker to the kid in the frozen food aisle, KNOWS you have no underwear on. And are judging you for it.

Have you had any near misses?

The aforementioned time at NYE. They denied seeing anything, but I know they did, I think they tried to spare my feelings. Other than that I’ve been very lucky.

Any other thoughts you’d like to share on freeballing?

Some people freak out when I tell them I’m freeballing, they sometimes move away from me like they’re scared they’re going to catch something that only my underwear can protect them from. I used to get defensive about it, now I’m comfortable and don’t care. You have to build confidence to pull it off and not become insecure about it, but when you get over yourself consciousness, it opens up a whole new world of pantless experiences.

Off with your head!

We must lose our minds
We must go raving mad
We must be completely insanity
If we are to find ourselves

We must lose our minds
If we are to live to learn to love
We must lose our minds so,
...Off with your head!!